All Over the Map - Laura Fraser [39]
I shake my head.
“You can tell me,” says Sandra. She reaches over and puts her hand on my forearm.
It all comes tumbling out—my drunkenness, my stupidity, the surfer on the beach. My fear ever since, the entire summer, not wanting to be alone, not wanting to travel, not being able to trust myself. Until I said it out loud, I didn’t realize I was so upset about the whole thing.
Sandra’s face darkens, and when I stop, she gives me a hug and pushes strands of hair out of my wet face. It’s a relief that a friend knows. Sandra gets up for a box of tissues, offers me one, wipes her own eyes, and refills our glasses.
“Shit,” she says. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.” She heaves a sigh. “You went to the doctor?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “I had all the tests.” Then, suddenly, outraged: “The only place I could get an appointment right away was in San Rafael. The receptionist at my doctor’s office, my fucking women’s health clinic, told me it wasn’t an emergency.”
“I’d call it an emergency.” Sandra is mad, too, which is satisfying.
“Don’t you think?” I say. “I mean, okay, it was a couple of weeks later, but still. It hit me all of a sudden, and I was totally freaked out. I needed to deal with it right then.”
“Of course,” she says in a calmer voice. “Why didn’t you call me?”
It’s hard to explain why I didn’t call her or anyone else. I was too embarrassed even to call the psychologist I used to see, so I wrote her an e-mail, which she never replied to, probably because I’d never written her one before and it went straight into her junk mail. In any case, my shrink’s most memorable line to me ever was “For such a smart woman you sure are stupid about men,” and this incident pretty much proved that point, just adding another dimension to my usual bad judgment. (Later, when I do tell her, she’s helpful, and I realize as usual that I was projecting.)
“I don’t know,” I tell Sandra. “I just couldn’t tell anyone I knew. I did call a crisis line, but I got one of those young women who speak like every sentence is a question? You know, ‘It’s not your fault? You should, like, talk to a therapist? We have resources? You should, like, press charges?’”
Sandra shakes her head.
“I think there should be a crisis line for people who can’t speak in declarative sentences or who say ‘like’ every like other word,” I say. “It’s a complete abuse of the English language.” I’m furious, suddenly, about the way people under thirty say “like” all the time. Something ought to be done. “It makes me fucking crazy.”
Sandra touches my shoulder. “Relax,” she says. “I don’t think that’s worth getting so upset about.” She sighs. “So, did you call the police?”
“Of course not,” I say, reaching for another tissue. “It was Samoa. What would the police say? You shouldn’t get drunk and walk around with a stranger at night on the beach, you stupid tourist? I mean, I was hanging out with the guy.”
“Being drunk and stupid doesn’t make it your fault.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have happened otherwise.”
Sandra takes a sip of wine. “Are you okay? I mean physically.”
“I pulled something in my hip, that’s all. Ligament or something.”
“Well, that’s lucky.”
Lucky. I wipe my face and blow my nose. “The thing is, I was so stupid, completely reckless, getting drunk, taking a walk with that guy.”
“Hey,” says Sandra, firmly. “Stop saying that. So you were partying too much. Big deal. You’re impulsive and spontaneous, and you like to have a good time. That’s what makes you you.”
“That’s what got me in trouble.”
“Okay, yeah, so you don’t have to get so sloshed when you’re out in another country, and probably you won’t next time, but it might’ve happened anyway,” Sandra says. “The last thing you need to do right now is beat yourself up.”
We sit quietly for a few minutes. “In a way,” I say, sighing, “it’s kind of like just another bad one-night stand. I mean, I’ve ended up in bed with men who were using me, who didn’t care about me, I’ve felt shitty the next day, so what’s the difference?”
Sandra stares at me. “How can you say that?” She’s almost yelling. “You’re right, you